


The Stories We Chose To Bury

by PrincexRaven



Series: Kill me or save me [1]
Category: LazyTown
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anorexia, Assault, Bisexual Male Character, Bloodplay, Bulimia, Child Abandonment, Child Abuse, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Drug Dealing, Eating Disorders, Fae Glanni Glæpur, Fae Robbie Rotten, Gender Dysphoria, M/M, Masochism, Mentions of Underage Sex, Mentions of surgery, Murder, Pedophilia, Piercings, Prostitution, Sadism, Self-Harm, Sexual Abuse, Tattoos, Trans Male Character, Unhealthy Relationships, Weapons, beauty obsession, child prostitution, this gets dark as all fuck, where do i even begin with this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-05-14 10:25:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14767817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincexRaven/pseuds/PrincexRaven
Summary: Glanni has had to fend for himself since he was born. Robbie has never known how to.The story of two broken people and how their worlds collided.Prequel to "Hurts so Good"





	1. Glanni

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheGYouLoveToHate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGYouLoveToHate/gifts).



> This bit of backstory is lovingly dedicated to TheGYouLoveToHate, for being nothing but a delight to me and always interested in my little AU.  
> Set in an AU of mine and prequel to "Hurts So Good"

Glanni was not what one would usually call a cute child. Startling, yes, but not cute, not adorable, not _beautiful_ in the way that children should be. Too many sharp points and angles, the grey of his eyes resembling steel, his snow-stark skin making him look ghostly. Adults were scared of him. By age four, Glanni was well aware of this fact –well aware of the wide-eyed, shocked looks adults gave him when they came to the orphanage. By age six, he knew he would never be adopted.

He didn’t care. He’d discovered he had magic, and was learning to use it in a way that made even the other children, who tended to huddle together for warmth and comfort and some semblance of a family, stay away from him. He discovered his eyes were not the only thing that was silver; he had a silver-tongue, too, and he could talk anyone into doing anything for him, and that was good enough. He’d never wanted a family, anyway.

He was seven when Ketill, one of the other children, approached him. Ketill was six and he had such startling green eyes, and hair that kept falling into them, and he was not afraid of Glanni, for a change. He was drawn to him, like a moth to a flame. By this time, Ketill still was what could be considered a reasonably cute child, but there was something in him, in the way he moved and those eyes, cold and unmoving like gemstones, that scared people away. Glanni could sympathize with the feeling. Ketill usually just sat and gaped at the pink magic between Glanni’s fingertips, and then decided to show Glanni his most precious possession, because he had come to the conclusion that the two of them were friends, now, in the way that children do.

Glanni took the switchblade with interest, flipped it open and closed in his nimble fingers, didn’t even bother asking Ketill where he’d gotten it. By eight, he had his own, and he was terrifyingly good with it.

Ava was Ketill’s age, and she kept away from all the other children of her own volition. One day, Glanni caught her crying, spindly arms wrapped around pointy shoulders, blonde hair barely covering the way her shoulder-blades tensed away from the sickly white skin as if about to break them. She could have been beautiful –she still was– but she was too thin and too sickly, and the other children whispered about her starving herself, counting ridges and protruding bones in a way unnerving for a seven-year-old, and being a freak who hurt herself with sharp objects and hid the scars under her skirt. Glanni was curious about her, the way he’d been curious about the edge of the switchblade. He didn’t normally care much for other children crying, Lord knows there was enough of that going around the orphanage, but this was somehow different. Glanni’s reading of other people’s wants and needs was uncanny, even if he used it only to his own advantage, and plus, Ketill had a crush on Ava; it would be funny to mess with her a little.

He made her turn around; her unfathomable black eyes were red and puffy and wet with tears, and it made Glanni consider turning around and running, but she took one good, hard look at Glanni’s own ridges and points and angles and she whispered in awe:

“You’re beautiful”.  
He could tell she wasn’t lying. He knew he _would_ be, someday, it was there in the structure of his bones and the shape of his eyes and the length of his lashes and his plump lips, but she found him beautiful _now_.

He decided he liked it, enough to ask her about her crying.

‘It’s this body’ she hiccupped, raking her nails down her arms, and Glanni didn’t know whether she meant her thinness or something else until she paled a shade or two more and whimpered, ‘I’m not supposed to be in this body’.

Ava was not crazy; _he _was a _boy_. He’d always known, but he didn’t know who to tell, and he was seven and no one was going to take him seriously. The managers of the orphanage forced him to wear the skirt uniform, and he wanted to rip it off himself. He did starve –as much because he hated the body he was in as because he’d read that it could delay puberty. Glanni was smirking mischievously when he flicked the switchblade and wave upon wave of thick, long blonde hair started falling to the ground until it was sheared off close to his scalp. Ava was smiling, finally, running his fingers through short locks until he tackled Glanni into the first hug of his life.__

__He was the one to get in trouble for cutting Ava’s hair, of course. He said it had been a prank, but he never let it grow long again. He joined the gang with Ketill and him, and Ketill’s crush on him was unaffected by the fact that he was a boy, and “Einar” sounded good, sounded perfect, even if it was just Glanni and Ketill calling him that._ _

__They were nine and ten, respectively, when they got in trouble again; Glanni liked Einar’s skirt, and Einar desperately wanted Glanni’s pants, and the solution was as simple as breathing. They both had the same narrow hips, and Einar only had to roll up the pants' legs a little and Glanni didn't give a fuck that the skirt was "too short" for him._ _

__The problem was not with their tutors scolding them –they walked out of the office defiant, still in each other’s clothes. The problem was the older kids, the ones that had been here too long and were desperate, and threw out their anger on the smaller ones. This time, Einar and Glanni._ _

__Victor was twelve and already built like a brick house, boxing after school until his knuckles were bloody and his mind was clear, and he did not hesitate to step between three teenagers who stood head and shoulders over him and two kids younger than him, who, in his mind, needed protecting. But it was three against one, and even Victor’s roughed-up fists didn’t stand much of a chance, until there was a shrill cry piercing the air and one of the older ones tumbled to the floor._ _

__And there, crouched like a cat, was Glanni, wild black hair falling into steely eyes that glinted maniacally as he twisted the blade into the other one’s knee to the horrifying sound of metal on bone and the squelching of flesh giving way. The older kid was rolling on the floor, begging for mercy, but there didn’t seem to be any in Glanni’s eyes, as he experimentally darted his tongue out to taste the blood that had splattered on his face. Victor was watching in awed horror when one of the other ones tried to tackle him and he twisted his hands into his collar, behind his own neck, easy as breathing, and roughly tumbled him over his shoulder before crushing his windpipe with his boot. When he was sure he was unconscious, he turned around looking for the last one, and found that a kid he didn’t know, green eyes cold and hard, had literally nailed him to the ground by both his shoulders’ joints with two blades of his own._ _

__Ketill and Glanni fell flat on their asses, blood-smeared and laughing, and Einar hugged them, until suddenly Glanni stood up and very seriously extended a delicate hand (Victor was scarcely able to believe what that hand had been doing five minutes earlier) to shake Victor’s and welcome him to the gang._ _

__Nobody ever messed with them again after that._ _

__By thirteen, Glanni knew he was beautiful, a beauty sharp-edged and androgynous that stole your breath away. He’d learned many things –that clothes had no gender and he liked skirts, for one, and that makeup was fun to play with and he was quick to learn, and that he was very, very good at stealing things with those nimble fingers of his. A growth spurt had him at 5’9 by this age, and he was more than a little intimidating. He’d also learned to walk in heels, and that he liked luxurious things and that he was not staying in this fucking rotten place until he was eighteen._ _

__But he couldn’t make a living out of shoplifting, that much he knew. He also had a hidden knack for chemistry, and he was self-taught (nobody taught you nothing of interest in this dump). He wanted to live the life of the rich kids, escape to a city where no one knew his name, go to a private school and flaunt himself. Einar and Ketill were twelve; Victor was fifteen. Glanni was tired of everything and he wanted out._ _

__He was six months away from his fourteenth birthday when he crawled out into the night and stole what he needed to make what he wanted, in the little secret hideaway the gang had made years ago. Victor looked pretty intimidating, so he was the one sent away to deal. Glanni had to choose a last name –no way he’d live by the one they’d given him at the orphanage, and Glæpur seemed fitting._ _

__At fourteen, tall and slender and otherworldly beautiful, Glanni Glæpur was a relatively well known drug dealer. He had few principles, but he had them; the people who came to the Glæpur Gang knew they never sold anything second-rate. Their heroin was the best around, and the junkies, with their wide, pleading eyes and shaking hands, would pay anything silver-tongued Glanni asked them._ _

__At this point, he’d slept with all three of his, well, he wasn’t sure if he should call them friends, but they called themselves that and so it stuck just fine. Einar, delicate and gorgeous Einar, had been the first, if only because he’d been the first to call Glanni beautiful. He shivered when Glanni dragged the blade across his skin like he had seen him do to himself countless times, and they were both blood-soaked and sweaty and thoroughly satisfied by the end, Einar sporting bruises to his slender neck and Glanni picking blood from under his fingernails. Einar wasn’t a virgin –he and Ketill had been sort-of-dating since forever, but it didn’t bother Ketill to share, much less with Glanni. Victor had been up next because Glanni wanted to try bottoming, just to cover all bases. He liked it but only if he could control the man inside him –Victor laughed and said that Glanni was a dom through and through; it was only natural that he’d top even from the bottom._ _

__Ketill had been last, but by this point Glanni had learned enough to make it up to him, and the sadistic streak Glanni'd always had but was forced to acknowledge while ripping an older boy's kneecap apart seemed to bother him even less than it did the other two, as he quivered under Glanni's body and teeth and strength with a grin that bordered on insanity._ _

__Neither of them had been Glanni’s first._ _

__Glanni had been thirteen and sneaking out in the middle of the night again, trying to sneak into a party, stolen heels clicking sharply against the pavement, his dress and his mouth blood-red, and the man had not cared that he was a boy under the skirt, and offered to buy the whole night for a good price; Glanni was not one to turn down money and he didn’t much care about the perceived value of his virginity. He taught Glanni many things, but if there was one that was absolutely burned into him was that he couldn’t stand not being in control, ever. Glanni had hurt many people over the years, crippled some of them; this one was the first one he killed, as soon as the money was secure in the holster in his thigh, chest heaving as he slit his throat as wide open as it would go. He was no one’s doll, no one’s possession; it hadn’t been the sex that had bothered him as much as the man thinking he owned him, if even just for one night._ _

___Nobody owned him_._ _

__By fifteen, Glanni had enough money saved up to get out of this hellhole, and drag the entire gang with him. They’d jumped on the first train, with their scarce belongings in tow, and Einar was good at forging documents that gave them all a new identity, new last names, parents that never existed. He had learned to do it out of necessity –his first successful forgery was a recommendation letter from a non-existent psychiatrist to get started on testosterone injections. He was still very skinny, though, but seeing how skinny Glanni was in turn and how he’d learnt to carry himself, head held up high, he wasn’t ashamed of that anymore. He stopped starving, too, but not cutting. Glanni knew enough about addictions to know better than to ask him to stop; he, instead, showed him how to do it so as not to hit a vein or damage a tendon, and instructed him not to cut on his budding chest because then chances were he couldn’t get top surgery. Einar had long since, like the others, learnt to do what Glanni said without question._ _

__The three of them dyed their hair jet-black the night before leaving. Glanni might not belong to anybody, but they were _his_. This was just an acknowledgment. _ _

__Glaumbæjar was not the sort of place four teenagers would usually consider home, but somehow it was. Ketill had rapidly picked up on Glanni’s chemistry lessons, and so the gang was now in charge of the entire drug business, half of the proceedings of which still went to Glanni. He found a school he liked and within months he was its nominal diva, hushed reverent whispers in the halls as he passed, gang in tow. The house they’d found was nice enough, with three levels –the entire third was for Glanni, the boys split the second and the first was the living area. Fifteen-year-old Glanni paid for it with either drug money or his body until he grew very, very tired. The network he’d built in school, where people who adored him left expensive gifts and money in his locker for a chance to touch him, was all well and good; nobody questioned his dominance, here. But the landlord was different –he acted like because he could throw Glanni onto the street if he didn’t pay, he owned him._ _

__He was sixteen when Einar forged the papers to transfer ownership of the house to Glanni’s nonexistent parents and Glanni sighed and went to buy a new carpet._ _

__The one where the former owner of the house had tried to grab Glanni by the neck and force himself on him after he said no was so drenched in blood now, it was completely unsalvageable._ _

__Too bad; he had liked that carpet. Ketill gleefully employed his chemistry knowledge to make the body literally disappear._ _

__Glanni had gifted Einar a double incision mastectomy for his fifteenth birthday; the boys had a stylized GG now tattooed in some part of their bodies (Victor’s left hip, by the V of his lower abdomen, Einar’s right side of his ribcage, Ketill, the most eager of the three, had it on the inside of his wrist). Glanni wasn’t one for tattoos but he’d watched Ketill’s body grow increasingly metallic over the past year –what had started as a simple earlobe stud had blossomed into an explosion of steel. He could appreciate the beauty of some of them, and so he got the ridges of both his ears done, from lobe to cartilage, his left tragus, navel and nipples._ _

__Glanni had been beautiful; at almost eighteen, standing at 6'3 without his heels, makeup always perfect, hair no longer wild, delicate limbs filled in with the grace of a dancer, full red lips like ripe fruit, silver eyes under the curtain of heavy long ink-black eyelashes, cheekbones that could cut and features sculpted in marble under the white silk of his skin, he was something closer to a deity. He had his money, his business, and his boys _(his family)_ and either the respect or the fear of everybody at his school. He had the life he wanted, and was perfectly content._ _

__And that’s when Robbie Rotten decided to tumble headfirst into it._ _


	2. Chapter 2

I am deeply sorry, but if there's anyone reading this, I feel like I cannot, in good conscience, publish the next chapter of this, due to recent developments. Robbie was a character that Stefán felt much more connected to than Glanni's original version; therefore, due to my own sorrow and the sorrow of others, I cannot and will not publish a story in which my years of abuse and maltreatment are projected on him, if only out of respect, until my sorrow and our collective grief has eased somewhat at the very least.  
Please, to all the creators out there: do not take down your work, be it written or pictures. I don't feel it is what Stefán would have wanted, though it is just my guess. If it eases your grief, then by all means do so.  
And I speak to the fandom at large now: you have truly become my family, and I do so hope that Stefán's passing will not separate us. It should bind us more strongly together, if anything. I am here for you all.


End file.
